3 Times He Told Bella, & the 1 Time She Believed
by Pastiche Pen
Summary: Edward infiltrates Bella's vampire club. He tells her THE TRUTH-but she doesn't believe him. Silly, silly girl. Vamp. Pr0ny humor. Very pr0ny. Written for the Twi Kink Meme.


-Disclaimer- I have no claim to Twilight. Just my insanity and a cat who never listens.

So, this was written for the LiveJournal prompt community **Twi_Meme**. I play there because the slash is amazing, and writing anonymously makes one feel unleashed and free as a bird, but then I decided that I wanted to share... so **ElleCC **has whacked this into beta'd grammatical shipshape, and you get to read it in a much prettier format than in broken up LJ comments. Anyway, the original prompt is at: community(dot)livejournal(dot)com/twi_meme/381(dot)html

The prompt was: Human Bella knows about vampires; in fact, she reveres them (ala the vamp worshippers in that Buffy episode?) and seeks them out. She meets Vamp Edward, who infiltrates her cult of vamp worshippers. It would be your choice how to end it-he kills her or changes her-but I want there to be some femoral-artery sucking going on. And some oral. :) I'm angst-friendly, comedy friendly, darkward friendly.

So, yeah, this was really just an excuse for me to write funny porn.

* * *

**Three Times Edward Told Bella, and the One Time She Believed**

-1-

When the curly-haired girl asks me to join them, I fake shyness, looking down at the floor, but I say "yes." I have time (and blood and boredom) on my hands, and the prospect of participating in the "vampire club" is so godforsaken hysterical that I can't say no, (instead I ask: are you sure it's okay? Should I bring soda or chips (or cigarettes) or a book or anything?)—I play my role. I'm the new kid with Clark Kent glasses, bad hair, generic black t-shirts, and almost too-tight jeans, and I can smell her lust flapping out from underneath her skirt. She wants me.

But she's not the one I want. I want the hot, serious one.

There are four people in Tyler's van. They all wear black. The van is a suburban ice-blue on the outside, but on the inside the back seats are all gone, and there are moth-eaten cushions in the corners, scarlet velvet is stapled in a pell-mell path across the ceiling. The interior's teenage obviousness mimics the Sixties peace wagons, but the smell of weed is replaced by the smell of commercial sandalwood (and Jessica's lavender deodorant and a lemon air freshener dangling from the front mirror). There's the girl who invited me, Jessica, and then there's the creamy-skinned (hot) girl. Bella. There are two guys, Mike and then Tyler, who owns the van. Both guys want to get into Bella's pants. She's the leader, and I want in her pants, too.

I can't help but be affected by skin (something you notice when your enhanced eyesight sees pores in detail), and this creature has glorious skin (and hair and smell), the sort of skin that's beautiful to slice. The red looks so lovely as it leaks into pin-drop pools over the microscopic white banks.

But I do distract myself.

Jessica is regaling us with a possible vampire death in Mexico. "So, this was from a forum," she tells us, picking up her print out, "but I think it's totally legit. So, right, in Chiapas—which is in Southern Mexico and it's pretty poor—this anthropologist who was down there kept hearing weird stories about the forest demons or whatever, but anyway, every few months or so a villager would disappear—unless—," she leans forward, and she whispers, "—unless they put out their first born babe on the full moon."

Her words are met with silence until Tyler decides to howl.

Mike laughs and adds, "You know, it could be a werewolf or something else and not a vamp."

Bella sighs over all of them. "I don't think it's either. It's more of that superstitious crap. You can't trust reports from isolated cultures. You know, they used to pull that hocus pocus in old Europe. People'd leave sick babies out in the forest because they believed the fairies stole the healthy ones, and they thought if they gave the fairies a chance, the fairies would take back the changeling and return their healthy baby back—but _nooo_, instead, they just let the infants die of exposure."

Jessica's smile is plain wiped off at this point. "Oh _nice_, so just because they're poor, they're barbaric and stupid. The anthropologist found teeth-like cuts on the bodies, you know."

"They were drained?" Mike asks.

"They only found one. A village man," Jessica says, looking uncomfortable. "Apparently, he was half under a boulder, and his lower body was crushed, but he had a slit across his neck."

Bella rolls her eyes again, scoffing under her breath, "Forest vampires..."

"I think it's a vampire," I announce, if a tiny bit (fake) meekly.

Jessica's smile comes back. Supernova triumph.

Bella rolls her eyes, looking away, and by the set of her jaw, I know she's slightly pissed off. She doesn't like to be contradicted.

Thirty minutes later, the "meeting" ends. Jessica tries to get us all to go to the diner. I keep my mouth shut until Bella begs off, "Can't. No way. We have a Lit test tomorrow."

"Fine then. What about you guys?" Jessica turns to us males.

"Yeah, Lit test." I shrug with a tilted head. I must look so _cuuute_, because Jessica looks Pound Puppy-forlorn over my three words.

Bella is three paces ahead of me as she crosses the parking lot, but I catch her easily.

"Hey-ya, Bella?" I call, catching up (pant-pant-pant, how funny oxygen dependence is).

"Oh, hi. Edward, right?" She flicks a glance my way but doesn't stop her pace. (Run run, little rabbit.)

"Can I ask you something?" I ask.

"Uh, yeah." She has a hesitant expression as she pulls her keys out of her pocket.

"How do you know if you're a vampire?"

Bella drops her keys and then rounds on me, her glare her only response.

"I think I might be one, you see." (So innocent, that lilt I add.)

"You aren't a vampire," she says. She has one hand on her hip, and the other braced against her truck door. Her eyes are rolling with so much force that I half-expect them to keep rolling and rolling until they twist up like the coil of a lollypop. She smells so luscious that she's sure to be just as sweet a lolly (sweet and sour). Meant to be licked and savored slowly (perfect for my purposes).

"Why not?" (I feign looking crestfallen.)

"Another eye roll. It's mesmerizing the way those eyes roll, like a hypnotized cartoon transfixed by the swirl of the locket (to and fro and away we go...). _I_ am hypnotized, but mostly thirsty, and I can't help but stare into her eyes and wonder if behind them lurks hell or heaven or mere teenage idiocy.

"Becausssse," she zips her z's, "vampires are taller. They are pale like you, duh, but they have darker hair, and..."—here, she trails off and her lips thin into an assessing smile, as if she's deciding whether or not to lift the portcullis and step into her world of the great immortal—"they have red eyes. Yours aren't red. You have bronze hair, and you have eyes as red as my purse."

Her purse is green. (How funny.)

"Oh," I reply, but this time I don't affect looking hurt or confused or paranoid. I let my real thoughts show: you, a pink-nosed field mouse; and I, a hawk with stone talons. Climb into your hole. Tunnel deep.

She blinks. She reaches for the door handle, but my fingers catch it before hers do, and I pull it open, gesturing for her to hop up. I even offer my arm.

She doesn't take it. (She's a post-modern gal.)

She's sweating as she drives away. She has goose bumps. The muscles in her neck and back are rigid. Her heart pumps fast.

And she's aroused.

I chuckle as I run into the woods.

(Wood demons, indeed.)

-2-

There's a funeral. (Not my fault.) She's there. She's wearing a navy dress (she either has better uses for black or simply no black dresses). It's an old church, small but beautiful, and Bella is standing in one of the back alcoves gazing up at the stained glass depiction of the serpent and Eve. It's a masterful piece, I decide as I look over Bella's shoulder. The proportions are odd, though. Eve has massive globes for breasts, and the way her mouth is hanging open, it looks like she's in a right state (a bloody fucking orgasm). The apple in her palm (one bite gone and the red flesh dangling from her tongue) is blood red and as big as her head.

"I didn't know you were religious," I murmur.

Bella jumps (almost stumbles) and then she turns. "You scared me."

"Because I'm a vampire." I nod (playful, silly, so uncouth for a funeral—which, fuck. I must return to public solemnity). I wither my expression, looking toward the altar and casket. "I didn't know you were Catholic."

"I'm not. He was a friend of Charlie's. On the force."

"Ah."

"And you're not a vampire." (She just couldn't _let it go_.)

"Oh," I intone, rolling my neck to meet her gaze. (A hawk again. The voice from our encounter at her truck.)

Bella shivers and then steps back.

(Delight. Delight.) I step forward.

Back.

Forward. (We dance.)

She steps back and is flush with the wall.

I step close to her. Fast, before she can decide to react.

"I want to kiss you. May I?" I pucker up.

"N-n-NO!"

"I asked very politely."

"We're in a church! At a funeral!"

"Is that the only reason?"

"What? I mean no! You're creepy!"

"But I'm a vampire, mortal rules don't apply to me."

"If you were a vampire, you wouldn't be in a church at all!" With that, she pushes, and I let myself be pushed. She skirts away but stops to give me a daggered look, showing her clenched teeth. (Oh, please growl, kitten.) She marches-stomps-flees from the alcove.

I sigh, and then I turn to Eve and the serpent.

"Doesn't know what she just missed, does she?"

Eve looks too busy to care.

-3-

We're in the van again, except this time we're driving. Bella is shotgun next to Tyler (as far away from me as possible). We're headed to Seattle. Mike wants to get a tattoo.

When we're finally in the "parlor" and the stinging of needles into skin makes me twitch (you just hunted, I remind myself—not your time), I play pretend with Tyler and Jessica, looking through the binder of designs. Bella is standing next to Mike and the artist, talking to Mike about Anne Rice (she would be an Anne Rice girl, wouldn't she?) while Mike has a silent conversation with her boobs-but then again, he's getting needles poked into his back, so neither Bella nor I blame him.

However, I am bored.

(Bored.)

"Do you think I should get one?" I ask Jessica (innocent, fearful, hesitant).

"Oooh, like that dragon one on the last page?" She flips the page back.

"It does look cool," I agree.

"Really? You going to do it?" She's excited.

Tyler's frowning slightly. His fragile male ego is apparently feeling out-machoed, and I catch a glare from Mike who is hissing with pain. Bella is ignoring me.

"Well, nah... probably not." I glance over at Mike. "I mean, it looks like it hurts."

Bella (who is playing at not paying attention) snorts-eye rolls-scoffs. "Here you go, tough guy. I'll buy this for you." She reaches into the basket on the counter, one filled with press-on tattoos (for kids, it would seem) and tosses one at me.

I catch it with a (fake) fumble. "A heart. I didn't know you cared?" I jest in a soft voice.

Jessica melts. Bella rolls her eyes again.

"Where should I put it?" I turn and ask Jessica.

Jessica giggles, and then says through a flush, "Shoulder blade." (Oh, you pervy little harlot, you.)

I don't hesitate. I rip off my shirt, and I turn my back to her. "Right side," I say.

I have shocked them all into silence, (I am that _perfect_)… until Mike yelps. It would appear I have managed to distract the tattoo artist. Jessica's voice is flustered. "Edward, um, where on you back do you want me to put it?"

Tyler interrupts with a, "Man, you're fuck-pale."

"Yeah, I know. Burn in the sun." I say this last bit to Bella, grinning slightly. She's refusing to look at me. (She wants to look at me.)

Jessica has dipped the tattoo into her water cup and is now attempting to rub the square onto my back. "Oooh, you're chilly!" she giggles. "I should hurry." (She's not hurrying.)

"It's because I'm dead."

Jessica giggles again, and Bella turns to glare at me. Doesn't work. She blushes as soon as her gaze falls on my bare chest.

"Edward thinks he's a vampire," she announces.

"Bella doesn't believe me."

"Oh, hush, Bella," Jessica snaps, her hands on my back. "Edward can be a vampire if he wants." This statement makes her giggle again.

Bella looks like she wants to argue, but this time, she doesn't. She realizes she'd have to look at me to do that. (Smart girl.)

We leave an hour later. Mike has what appears to be a Count Chocula tattoo on his shoulder, one with a lopsided mustache (my fault for the shirt incident). Jessica keeps looking resentfully at my shirt. Tyler is grouchy, and Bella seems incapable of relaxing, because... each time she relaxes, her eyes wander to my body.

I take this as an opportunity to write her a note.

_Like the view?_

She flushes when she reads it. She rolls her eyes at me. Tries to look disgusted (looks wanton instead).

I point to myself and mouth, "I'm a vampire."

She rolls her eyes at me.

-4-

I decide to finish it on Monday, get the week off to a good start and all (and I'm thirsty) (and this has gone on long enough) (and Jessica is following me, and I'm worried I might accidentally settle for her and ruin all the fun). Plan made, I find Bella before homeroom at her locker.

"Meet me tonight at the old cemetery. I'm going to prove to you that I'm a vampire." I make a point to look highly clandestine as I tell her this.

"No," she snaps. She closes her locker and glares at me.

I grab her arm. I pull her back. "I could prove it now."

"What? Fine." She crosses her arms (coy smile on her face).

"Give me a penny," I say.

She doesn't expect this. She scowls in disbelief.

"Penny." I repeat my request.

"Why a penny?"

"Give me a penny, Bella."

She reaches into her book bag, and I hear the jangling of change. She pulls out a fistful of coins, only to frown again. "I don't have penny."

"A nickel will do," I insist, but she's still frowning at me. With a sigh I snatch the nickel from her.

She rolls her eyes.

"Here's your nickel." I hold it before her eyes. Her brows furrow. I squeeze the nickel. There's a fraction of a second in which the metal squeals, enough to make Bella jump, but not enough for anyone else to notice, and then I open my palm. I show her the small piling of dust, and as she's still looking, I blow, and the metal dust sifts out like sawdust down the hall.

The near empty hall. Class will be starting soon.

"That's a parlor trick." Bella's voice says she's trying to convince herself.

"No. I'm that fucking strong, but it's one of the few things that I can do in public without attracting unnecessary notice."

"Fine. Show me something else."

"Tonight. Cemetery. Wear black lipstick." I grin.

"No. Not tonight. Now."

I tilt my head to the side, smile. "Fine, then. I'll meet you at the cemetery. Now."

"Now?"

"Your words."

"But we have class."

"Are you a coward?" I draw back from her, chin raised and showing her how utterly scandalized I am by her total lack of daring.

"No..."

I'm already walking away. She's following me. (Immortal magnetism.)

Out the doors.  
Across the parking lot.  
Into our cars (her truck is damn loud).

-4.5-

"I'm sick of your shit," she says when she sees me next. "You're _not_ a vampire."

We're in the town's cemetery. The breeze is flowing with a kick, and I sit back leisurely on a nice tombstone. (Agatha. Beloved Mother. 1897-1934) There's a lovely antique rose bush at my backside. It's riotous and deep ruby in the moist Pacific Northwest air.

"I am a vampire," I breathe through my sigh.

"You can't be. It's daytime." She points to the sky.

"But I'll have you notice it's cloudy."

"Vampires burn in the sun."

"No, they don't. They sparkle."

She doesn't seem to think that statement deserves acknowledgement. "Vampires drink blood."

"I do."

"I don't believe you."

"You don't believe anything I say."

"That's because you've got it all _wrong_."

"Oh, yes. The _vampire_ has it all wrong."

She rolls her eyes again.

I ask, "If you know so much, do vampires have permanent erections?"

She blinks. Mostly because she probably has a theory or three on the topic, but also because she's annoyed with me. She's starting to think I'm not taking her seriously, and being taken seriously is this girl's _raison d'être_. She takes a step forward when she says, "You're one of those pervert-jock types, aren't you?"

"I said I was a vampire."

"You need to get some sleep. Just because you look like the living dead, doesn't mean you get to make up weird shit."

"Weird shit, hmmmm... like how vampires only like virgins? That sort of weird shit?"

"God, you are a pervert." She says that, but she's not disgusted. She's turned on. She's scared but excited. She likes this game. (The game that isn't a game.)

"You're a teenage girl with a vampire fetish. Tell me, is it that you like violent sex or that you _really, really _like violent sex?"

"You don't have fangs," she mutters, cheeks bright red.

"My teeth are sharp enough. I don't need extended incisors which would interfere with my hunt."

"Interfere with your hunt?"

"Yes, impressionable young girls are less likely to follow me into cemeteries and dark alleys if they see scary teeth."

She's looking at my mouth as she asks, "An impressionable young girl, am I?"

It's in that moment I decide I've had enough.

She's standing there, hair blowing in the wind, a tall figure among God's acre, and she smells good in the way that just bruised fruit can smell. She's watching me, hand on her hip, brows raised, so totally small-town teenager and weak human that I have to have her. I grab her by the hips. Her arms flare out, and she mistakenly tries to remove my grip, (oh how funny), but I easily push her down onto the grass. She screams (no one hears). She thrashes (only her fingers and head are free to move).

"Just so you know," I explain in a soothing voice, "only impressionable young girls follow dark strangers into cemeteries."

"Let me go," she spits.

I sigh (for theater, of course. I love this, as does she). Her eyes are wide in disbelief when I lean down to bite her (as planned) above her left breast (I don't want her to bleed out before I've taken my proper time). As the blood pools in my mouth, I take a moment to swill it, to steep my tongue in the wonderful oak accents and lilac aromas. There's a wonderful cherry finish, I find when I swallow. Delicious (the first taste _always_ is), and I groan as I make myself pull away and savor the lingering effects of my single sip.

Bella's breath hitches, but she has not otherwise made a sound since I cut her flesh. Her brown eyes are staring up at me, so focused, so curious. (Not remotely afraid. Odd.)

"See," I say, "I didn't lie. I drink blood." When she doesn't respond, I add helpfully, "Yours." She's still just looking (but she's not in shock or anything—vitals are all normal), so I lean forward, press my lips to hers. Her mouth is agape, so I nudge my tongue into hers, and share the taste (her taste). She shivers, trembles. Her tongue presses back against mine (barely), but it's enough that when my lips start to move her mouth, her mouth is pliant; her eyes stay closed; her body is limp; her armpits, brow, back, ass are all sweating; she's breathing hard, but it's in sync with wetness seeping between her legs.

When I pull away to take another drink, her eyes peek open. She watches me lap at the top of her breast, and she's breathing heavily. Knowing I've got a rapt audience, I grab the top of her shirt and I rip. This makes her yelp, and her arms lift off the ground. She wants to cover herself (I don't let her). She's wearing some crappy little cream bra with a fuzzy hem and bleach spots (clearly not expecting any action today), and I tell her, "Lovely," (she blushes) before I tug it off.

She's shivering as I lick at the wound again. Some of the blood has seeped down her breast and lower, run down along her pale side. I have to clean up. (Gentlemen do.) Suck on her nipple (pink as her feverish blush). Lick her belly. Threaten with my teeth even as her hips press up. (The hips never lie.) I lick low on her, skirting along the top of jeans. She's panting. Heavily. Her mouth is hanging open. Her eyes are half-fogged (being as horny as a bitch in heat does that). She's leaning up on her elbows now; her mouth is open, like she wants to say something.

"Yes?"

"You're a..."

"Hmmm...? I'm a what, Bella?"

I kiss her (a reward). She moans at the touch (another reward). Her breath is ragged and shivery (The wind doesn't help.), but this time, she's kissing me back (but _do_ watch the teeth). Her lips are bloody when she pulls away; her hands pulling at my shirt. I let her take it off (fair is fair).

"I've decided," I tell her.

"What?" she murmurs. She's fixated on touching me. She has a finger running down the line of my chest.

"I gave you an option before, and I've decided you don't merely like violent sex. Nope. You _really, really_ like violent sex."

"W-what...?"

It's annoying when one's humor is not comprehended. I take another lick at the wound (keep it open, dripping) and then I rip at her jeans (punishment).

"What are you...?" (She keeps trailing off.)

I don't bother with completely removing my pants (I'll need them later), but push them down enough that my cock springs free. Bella gasps when I press it into her thigh. Her eyes are focused skyward (can't have that). I bite her again. This time on the right side of her neck. She squeaks. She jerks. She's wiggling her wetness against me (and I'm not sure she doesn't mean to), and that's reason enough to grab her hips and hold them still. I push into her.

(Ohmyfuckinggodsowarm.)

She yelps and her legs clamp hard around me. She says, gasping, "I've never... I haven't... I didn't..."

"I know. Virgins preferred, you know," I say, my tongue departing from her neck long enough to whisper in her ear.

I can tell she's annoyed by that little statement (even as she's turned on).

"Are you going to…?" She trails off.

I lift myself to see her face. "I am going to what…? …fuck you? (already doing that) …drink your blood? (also already doing that). Please be specific."

"Change me?" she asks.

"Hmmm." I cock my head to the side. "I'll think about it."

"You'll—?"

But I cut her off, because (_dear God_) I don't mix business with pleasure, and her lips are so red (and must be licked shut), and well, I've got my cock lodged inside her, so the sweet rhapsody of her hips against mine is mind blowing (I want more) (and really, why is she negotiating for immortal rights during sex?) (women are _cunning_). Bella's clearly forgot whatever she was yapping about before, though, because (I am a vampire sex god and) she's gritting her teeth, her nails are digging into the dirt (sorry to disturb, Agatha), and her eyes are unfocused. The blood leaking slowly from her neck is growing sweeter by the second, sweeter as she sweetens, but she's still too tense.

(Time for the evasive strategy.)

I pull out. I crawl down her body. The blood trails with me. I lick down to just below her belly button, right where the small bumps of abdominal muscles are soft impressions.

I nip the flesh.

Bella's hips jerk. She moans. Her heart thumps loudly.

It's just a little bitty cut, but the blood floods out. I lick. I lap. She's got her hands in my hair. Her hips are edging up and down (but she's not supposed to move), so I seal the slit in her belly with a single swirl of my tongue, and then I lean down and bury my face between her smooth thighs, breathing in her feminine perfume and virginal blood and sweat. I suck.

Bella screams. (Don't worry. She likes the pain.) Moans. (Like I said.)

I bite her inner thigh. I suck-drink her in hard. She's positively shaking now (partially from the chemical asphyxiation) from the sucking-(but mostly from the) fucking-touching.

I crawl back up her body. We're a bloody mess when I slam into her again, pulling her swollen lips back to mine (a final kiss). She's moving with me. She's trying to direct my face, and I finally let her. Her hand grabs my hair and pushes me to her neck, and she's nodding with punctuated sobs with each thrust of our hips, and her finger is pushing on my lips, pushing against her own skin. She wants me to bite her neck. (Not a problem.)

I bite hard. The artery is here, and we both know it (these vampire chicks always know), so when I cut the wound fresh, there's nothing to do but latch onto the honey stream.

I sorta lose it here.

(Hard not to.)

I'm pumping hard with my hips—Bella's hands are in my hair, pulling pulling clawing. Screaming. (I did tell her…) There's the perfect moment when her thighs clench around my cock, (which is important but not as important as) her blood turning to ambrosia in my throat, so much that I groan and half-choke on my swallows as I drink her in, teeth (too) deep sinking into flesh as the perfect blend shoots over my tongue, down my throat, and trembles in my hips, until I too tremble, mouth falling away from her neck, and growl into the open air. Hips making a final, heaving thrust into her.

With a gasp, Bella's head falls back. Her eyes flutter.

She smiles, and I smile back.

But then her heart stops beating.

"Oh."

(Drat.)

Though not unexpected.

There is work to be done, so I set to industry. I dig her a fresh new plot a few plots down from Agatha and the rose bush. I make sure to do a fancy job, even applying fresh rolls of sod when the dirt is all piled over. By the time I finish, I really am a complete mess, (soil is _foul_) so I go home to change.

Three days later, I'm sitting on Agatha again with a stop watch in my hand. It's ticking thoughtfully, and I'm humming along. I have one of the antique roses twirling in my hand as I wait.

I click the watch shut when the dirt starts to shift. First to emerge is the nub of a finger, followed by a white hand. Then a nest of dirty brown hair, and then she emerges in an explosion of dirt and sod. When she stands, she looks like someone attacked her with powdered sugar and cocoa powder.

Yes, I could have been more careful… (But I _do_ like my women dirty.)

I hold out the rose.

She blinks, brushes the dust of her face, and growls at me.

(Rude.)

"See, I told you I was a vampire," I tell her.

There's an eye roll, and then I'm not surprised when she lunges at me.

-_Fin_-


End file.
